


Let's All be Alone Together

by sneakysneak



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abundant dirty talk, Artsy reader, Bittersweet (but mostly sweet), Breath Play/Asphyxiation, Dom!Grillby, Dom/sub Undertones, Eccentric Reader, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Exploring intimacy, F/M, Group Sex, Interspecies Sex, Multi, Mutual Pining, Overstimulation, PTSD RECOVERY, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Reader is a shameless flirt, Recreational drug usage, Self-Denial, Sensuality, Sexual Tension, Sexually submissive reader, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Teasing, Touch-Starved, Versatile Sans, Voice Kink, body image issues, insecure reader, lots of flirting, now with lesbian spiders!, sex-magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2018-12-31 05:02:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12125094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneakysneak/pseuds/sneakysneak
Summary: Some things come naturally to Sans (such as being attracted to you) while others are easier said than done (such as acting upon being attracted to you); Grillby has a good heart, occasionally questionable motives, and lots of applicable experience; Muffet simply loves to see you squirm. What happens when you're all alone in a room together?





	1. Forget About It

    There you were again- this was the third time this week that Sans had spotted you around the neighborhood. He couldn't help but look after your retreating form with mild interest. He eyed the guitar case on your back, your thick-knit sweater…your chic tan mini skirt…bare thighs, leg warmers, black boots…he blinked, forcing his gaze to return to his book with much effort. He didn’t want to voluntarily creep on you, no matter how stylish you were. You’ve long since disappeared from sight when he allows himself look up once more. He shrugs, distractedly rubbing his fingers along the pages before him. 

    Before too long, his traitorous thoughts drift back to the diverting leg warmers you’d been wearing. You seemed to favor them- you'd had them on the first time he'd caught a glimpse of you, too. His trademark grin momentarily quirked higher as he recalled watching you partially stand on your bike while you soared down the steepest hill in town. You’d smiled at him so  _dreamily_ as you drifted past.

    He turned his unfocused gaze back to the book resting in his lap. It wasn’t easy to admit, but he’d hoped that you'd remembered him and come over to say…something. His grin fades on a bitter note as he stares down at his hands. He wasn’t exactly able to blend in with just any environment, so there was really no way you couldn’t have recognized him out in the open. Your smile the other day was probably, “ _definitely”,_ his mind supplied, a fluke. You’d sooner avoid him than ever say hello...

    Sans could scarcely keep his teeth from audibly grinding together as his internal monologue berated him. What did any of that matter? You were a stranger. You could be anyone- you could be dangerous. He knew nothing about you and he never would. End of story, goodbye, so long, thanks for all the laughs, and etcetera. His soul felt heavier than lead as he slammed his book closed.

    He stands, promptly resigning himself to solitude. He exhales a pessimistic scoff as he attempts to banish thoughts of leg warmers from his mind. With that, he trudges forward through two closely quartered trees, and fails to emerge from between them.

* * *

     You hum a little as you make your way along. You were perhaps a little slow going, but you were glad that you had the opportunity to be. Taking it easy gave you the chance to observe and enjoy your surroundings. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming…and…you’d seen them again. While you were walking, you’d noticed the monster who’d shot you a peace-sign while you were biking down your favorite hill. You might have stopped and said hello, but they looked rather absorbed in the book they'd been holding. What would you have said, anyway? How you'd remembered what they'd ordered to drink at the coffeeshop the other day? Unlikely.   
  
     You'd been loitering around the cafe a few days prior when they'd happened to saunter in. They’d given a precursory glance at the dwindling content in the pastry case before ordering “just a 20oz coffee to go, thanks. no room for cream.” You shivered as you reminisced upon the quality of their voice, and how it might sound forming the shapes of your name. You shook your head and verbally halted yourself.  
  
    “No, stop. Seriously, you’re an actual freak. They’re an actual stranger…and…an actual skeleton?” You giggle to yourself before whispering, “Okay, but that’s _actually_ pretty wicked…”

    Your ponderings on meeting one another fade as you came to the realization that they probably wouldn't have recognized you. If they had, why would they have ever talked to you? You feel your bottom lip wobble as a sweeping waves of insecurity crash over you, but firmly decide that you don't have the energy to actively worry about anything like that right now. You straighten your back and walk forward with purpose, doing your best to banish all thoughts of self-deprecation and baritone voices for the time being. You're mostly successful in your endeavor. 

   You continue to walk for a few minutes and eventually stumble upon your destination. One of the first things you’d done when you’d moved here was search for a spot with good acoustics. While it could be considered unsafe to play music in a tunnel, but it was fairly private and most of the traffic coming through consisted of skater kids and cyclists. Trains would occasionally rumble overhead, but you found that you didn't mind too much. 

    You skip over to the sunnier side of the underpass and unpack your guitar with an excited flair. You pull the strap over your head and pluck the strings in succession, softly humming along with each tone as you make sure your instrument is appropriately tuned. When satisfied, you begin noodling the intro to a song you’d been writing recently and manage to utter the first few words when a motorcyclist unexpectedly rips past you. You feel a piercing stab of unease as the amplified revs of the bike fill the tunnel entirely before you even have a chance to cover your ears. By the time the bike is gone, you find the silence to be as overwhelming as the noise had been, so you wheeze out a laugh to break the quiet as you attempt to steady your racing heart. You take an exaggerated breath in, out, and in again…relax your shoulders…and try again.

    Your voice lifts through the tunnel for a few moments, but you can feel yourself holding back. You feel a tremor snake its way into your diaphragm, followed by a sigh, and then a groan. You slap the strings of your guitar, bite your lip, and screw your eyes shut so tightly that you knew your vision would be blurry when you finally opened them again. It was okay- you were safe (probably). You were allowed to exist freely and imperfectly (even if it hurt sometimes). You were allowed to make noise (even if it started out quietly). You were allowed to be a work in progress (even if you felt self-conscious about it).  
  
   You relax your eyelids and begin to play once more. The feelings coursing through you were so tender and genuine that tears clung to your eyelashes as you let your voice join in, stronger this time. You revel in the experience, just like you'd been practicing, and let the music take over.

* * *

     Sans had been shocked still as he watched you approach from his vantage point beside the train tracks. You pranced forward before disappearing entirely into the tunnel underneath where he was resting. He let a slow breath out from between his teeth and slumped back until he was resting among the summer-scorched grasses. He couldn’t let himself watch you skip or dip or do whatever darling thing it was that you felt inclined to do on your way out. He just couldn’t. He stared up at the dusky sky instead.

   Just as he’d relaxed enough to let his eyes slip shut, he's startled once more by the most gentle and exquisite sound carried upon the breeze. He picks himself upright and strains to identify the source, only to have it abruptly drowned out by the obnoxious mechanical roar of a passing motorcycle. Soon after the disruption, an off-kilter and lofty little giggle echoes from the infastructure beneath him. Oh. Was that…you? Sans was momentarily confused until he heard the soft lull of a guitar  _(it had to be you, you'd been carrying the instrument with you when he'd seen you earlier_ ) and… ** _oh_**. You were singing. You were…stoping? You sounded frustrated. And then, after a long pause, you started again.  
  
   Sans's eye sockets were wide as he heard your bewitching voice resonate from below. His magic was prickling over the very surface of his bones, begging him to get closer, but he found he couldn't move. He was cold all over- or was he hot? Either way, he could hardly believe something so achingly pure could exist within this world. Sans wanted to be suspicious but…you were here on your own. You were innocent in your execution. You were so… _lovely_. You were _**so**_ lovely that Sans had to _leave_.


	2. Or...Not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder to check footnotes for chapter content warning!

   Sans was having a bad time. Ever since his partial encounter with you, he’d been majorly disinclined to do anything other than throw himself at his research. Nevertheless, the desire to focus couldn’t keep his mind from occasionally wandering back to the haunting lilt of your voice…or those cursed leg-warmers you liked to wear. He could somewhat deny his daydreams while working, though it was at the price of being tormented by them at odd hours of the morning. He felt ridiculous.  
  
    After enduring nearly a week of fatigue and frustration, the gang’s “SUPER-OFFICIAL and _EXTREMELY_ -IMPORTANT” bi-monthly game night had rolled around. Again. Sans hadn’t the heart to skip out on it. No matter how bummed out he’d been feeling, he wanted to be there for his friends…for his brother. Still, that sentiment hadn't kept him from showing up over forty-five minutes late to his own living room. He at least kept it fashionable and classy as ever by arriving elbow-deep in a bag of popato chisps and sporting his fluffy slippers .

    As the evening wore on, he was only able to exert slight effort in joining in on any games, much to the confusion of his friends. Sans usually boasted major skill at charades, but this time around he’d been more invested in pushing chisp after chisp between his teeth. His fingers eventually crinkled against the bottom of the bag, though he made no attempt to remove his hand from inside for a solid five minutes. Alphys gestured to Undyne, who made incredulous eye-contact with Papyrus, who, in the process of miming “ICE CAP”, looked to his brother with concern. Frisk followed Papyrus's gaze and glanced to Toriel with a raised eyebrow. She nodded once prior to politely clearing her throat. 

    “Sans? Are you all right? You seem particularly distracted tonight.” Sans chuckled in response to her question, though it sounded morose- even to him. 

    “i’m just bone-tired today, Tori. i was actually considering heading to bed if there are no complaints.” Sans winced as his sentence ended on a weary note. He was so obvious…his pals were supposed to be having fun and he was a total killjoy. He felt like such a jerk, even as everyone was receptive and sympathetic to his request. Despite his chagrin surrounding his premature departure, he was relieved when no one (save for Undyne, whom he'd waved off) pressed for details. He receded into his room without a backwards glance. Frisk stared thoughtfully in the direction Sans had gone for a short while before speaking softly;

    “I bet he has a crush on someone.” The room was filled with gasps followed by interjections of disbelief and... _affirmation_. Sans instantly recoiled from eavesdropping behind his door as several giggles and shushes lifted from the parlor.

    He had to get some fresh air.

* * *

     The clouds were puffy against today’s vast blue sky. They were a little too bright for you to stare at for large periods of time, but that hadn’t stopped you from stealing frequent glances upward. The weather had been spotty enough in the past week to keep you huddled inside for the majority of its duration, so you were keen on soaking up as much time outside as you could while it was pleasant. 

    You had no real agenda for your day other than to take some time for yourself. You’d stopped off at the park and dozed underneath the shade of a tall tree, played your guitar in the grass, and even made (mostly) enjoyable conversation with several strangers before your stomach eventually clenched from hunger around 4:30 in the afternoon.

    “Oh yeah, I didn’t eat anything at all today!” you note with a tight smile. You really, really needed to work on that. You could start now! You disregard your nausea and hop onto your bike with the grocery store as your intended destination. Now that you’d realized you were hungry, your whole body was committing mutiny. Your aching muscles probably would have been better off had you walked, but you needed to eat as soon as possible. Riding uphill with both your bag and guitar always managed to be a pain, but you figured that seven brutal minutes were far more practical than a drawn-out twenty. You just had to focus on getting there.

     By the time you finally arrive at the store, you feel extremely dizzy and consider it a miracle that you hadn’t passed out on your way there. You make swift work of locking your bike up and woozily making your way inside. You're instantly unenthused by the evening rush so you pick out your dinner with very little thought. You grab a nice looking apple, a bag of chips, and a kind of unfortunate looking pre-made sandwich. The express check-out lane isn't very “express” in actuality, but you take it as an opportunity to pull out your wallet, grab a drink, and relax as much as possible. 

     After successfully making your purchase and carefully placing your items in your backpack, you leave the still-crowded store as fast as you possibly can. Once outside, you exhale with delight and practically run over to your bike as you catch sight of twilight creeping in on the horizon. 

     Forget about eating- you had to make haste in getting to the train tracks a few streets over! You pedal over in record time and slide to an abrupt halt, stumbling off of your bike as you take in the sheer magnificence of the mountains framed by fleeting and rosy daylight. You drop your bags and helmet and run forward across both sets of train tracks, arms outstretched as if you wanted to tangibly embrace the splendor.  
  
    You prance and twirl and laugh out loud as you take everything in. The crisp air, the sounds of the distant highway, and...what was that? You tried to double take, but your vision was blurry from your sudden burst of uncoordinated activity. You sway on your feet as you notice a bright cyan- or perhaps yellow?- flash from the corner of your eye. As you reorient yourself, you spy an object sitting on one of the concrete barriers a few yards away and decide to check it out. 

* * *

    Sans could be seen sitting on one of the many durable blocks lining the railroad tracks. The book he'd been annotating was pushed aside as he once again stared up at the uncaged sky with a sense of wonder. He’d never get used to life on the surface. There were so many complex and astounding subtleties to be found up here...he'd never truly understood the contrast between day and night (or the ephemeral nature of the moments in-between, for that matter) until he'd stepped aboveground. So much limitless beauty...and so many expansive horrors to match. The whole world was tortured and aching, as was he. 

    It's almost as if the flurry of colors before him faded entirely as his mind descended. He may have been freed from the Underground (for now, as far as he was concerned), but he still felt trapped. As new as this all felt to him, he couldn't even be totally sure that he hadn't been here before. Had he seen this same exact sunset at some lost point in time? He sat suspended in sorrow for a few moments before jerking back to reality as he heard tires sliding on gravel. He tensed and turned his head turned just it time to see...

    To see _you_. Sans let out an involuntarily ragged breath as his whole body tensed. He couldn't take his eyes off of you. You were running forward, spinning, hopping, nearly tripping, _laughing_...you made eye contact with him. You stumbled, and...

    He panicked. Before he could even blink, he found himself backed into a corner of his room. A singular bead of residual magic trailed down the side of his skull as he clutched desperately at his sternum. His soul was fluttering rapidly from within his ribcage and he couldn't quite tell if he hated the feeling of it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW:
> 
> This chapter contains references to disordered eating and the story will have some focus around the topic in the future. I don't want to promote or glorify the habits exhibited in my writing- I merely find it relevant to discuss routines derived from poverty, trauma, mental differentiation, and chronic illness/pain. 
> 
> \----------------------------------
> 
> (anyway...hi! thanks so much for the all the kudos and feedback! I have the next few chapters outlined and will (hopefully) be getting to the the good stuff sooner rather than later. much love! -Z)


	3. Real Smooth

    It was already half-past one in the afternoon and you were still in bed, though you couldn't bring yourself to feel too guilty. Your sleeping schedule was majorly unpredictable and you were still learning to live with it.Insomnia had once plagued you as a mere (snd sometimes crushing) annoyance, but you'd recently discovered how to use it to your advantage by embracing it. You could have a cup of tea, make art, play music, study, or even do some freelance work. Sure, there were a few downsides to your lifestyle, but...

    "...there are downsides to _any_ lifestyle." you murmur while snuggling deeper into your nest of blankets. You let yourself teeter between dozing and daydreaming for a few minutes longer before finally summoning enough motivation to start your day. You sit up slowly and survey your one-room apartment with disdain; the state you'd left it in after last night was kind of revolting. 

     Somehow, every dish you owned was discarded in the sink, there were precarious piles of debris stacked high on your counter, your workspaces were dominated by half-finished doodles and poems and unread mail, your closet was spilling over with clothes of varying degrees of cleanliness, and your projects from this morning were scattered across the floor. Not even your bed was secure from disaster; your guitar laid to one side, while stacks of books and papers and other miscellaneous clothing items were strewn among the sheets. You were going to have to take the time to deal with these matters...at some point. Not today, but seriously, at some point!

    You make exaggerated effort in dragging yourself to the edge of your unkempt bed and even manage to stay upright for a few valiant moments before flopping backwards with a heavy sigh. You pout a little and stare up at the ceiling until its depth and shadows soften into one another, feeling equally uneasy and at peace as the world glazes over. Before you realize it, half-an-hour has passed and you've contemplated everything from the dwindling contents of your fridge to the duality of your profound and anomalous existence. You snap out of your reverie only when the ache in your bladder becomes too persistent to ignore. You groan, simultaneously arching your aching back and sliding out of bed onto the floor. Since you were already down there, you make quick work of collecting the charcoal drawings you'd been working on earlier. You didn't have to look too closely to know that you most likely hated them. You stand quickly and groan as blood rushes to your head. You shift your focus to gripping the papers in your hands until the dizziness subsides, and the moment it does, you turn around and dump the loathed sketches into the catacombs of your portfolio. 

    "Ok um...what next...? Oh, right, yeah. I still need to pee." You pull a weary hand over your face and stumble into your tiny bathroom to relieve yourself. While washing your hands, you decide to commit yourself to going through the motions of getting "ready". You still weren't sure what you were going to do with yourself today, but anything was better than stagnating at home any longer. You brush and rinse, moisturize the entirety of your body, and attempt to transform your hair into something half-decent (which works out for the most part). For appearance sake, you blot on a little lipstick, apply some light eyeshadow and liner, as well as a hint of perfume at your pressure points. You lacked confidence in your looks, but you were doing your best to work with and respect what you had. As you finish up your routine, you give yourself a half-satisfied smirk in the mirror and decide to get dressed. 

   Lo and behold, the unorganized masses of garments lying around don't exactly serve you in your quest to dress. It takes you 25 minutes to construct your initial outfit, another 15 to find a different one to change into, 5 to alter elements of your accessories, and 10 more before you decide to go with your first ensemble. You pack your bag, grab your helmet, and merrily make your way down the three flights of stairs it takes to reach the front door of the complex. You step outside and are instantaneously forced to retreat and find your gloves and leg warmers. While it was chillier than you expected, you decide to skip out on bringing a jacket- you knew you'd be sweating the moment you started biking and figured you'd be home before it got _too_ frigid. 

    You make a exhaustive attempt of excavating your warm attire from the piles of embarrassing clutter around your living space. You're about 98.8% successful after a few minutes, but at this point you really just wanted to leave. You give up on searching and lock up your apartment. You make your way back downstairs in record time, and find that you're thankfully a little less chilly than before. Without further ado, you hop on your bike and take off without looking back.You drift from street to street for awhile, taking in the sights and smells of late afternoon. You're very briefly distracted by splash of crimson amidst the bleak winter backdrop and that brief moment of carelessness is all it takes for you to veer right and tumble head over handle-bars.

* * *

    Sans had officially reached his wits end. He wasn’t getting any rest, his recreational work was at a practical stand-still (especially since he’d lost the single-edition copy of the book he’d been analyzing), his various jobs were annoying him more severely than usual, and to top it off, his latent magical energy was beginning to seep out from under close wraps. The awkward imbalance between his depleted mental reserves and his overflowing magical ones left him steeped in irritation and ennui. 

    Papyrus had pulled him aside on several occasions to grill him for details, but to no avail. After facing numerous evasive techniques from Sans for weeks on end, he'd been forced to "TAKE DRASTIC MEASURES IN ORDER TO ENSURE HIS (OBVIOUSLY TROUBLED) BROTHER'S WELL-BEING". In short, Sans had been kicked out of the house for sulking and now he was out in public- sulking. He'd been aimlessly wandering among some industrial back streets for some time now. He practically exuded apathy as he shuffled along at a sedate pace. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his well-worn hoodie, shoulders slumped, eyes heavily lidded and grin waning. He didn't want to be here. He wasn't "allowed" to be at home for awhile longer...maybe he could hit up Grillby's? Or perhaps the library? While lost in thought, his acute hearing picked up on a tiny yelp from the direction he came from. He made slight effort to turn his head before whipping around. Some unfortunate cyclist was about to eat it.

“oh shiiii-“  He doesn't stop to think before taking action.

* * *

   Your ears ring profusely as adrenaline courses through your system. What just happened? Did you crash? (Okay, duh.) You definitely crashed, but you were feeling more discombobulated than in pain. You almost felt as if you were...floating in a pool? It was a genuinely blissful state of stasis. Still, you’d wiped out a enough times to know that once everything set in, you’d be sitting on the cold concrete trying to pull yourself together for at least a few minutes. You attempt to reach up to unclip the heavy helmet from your head only to find that you can’t move your arms.  
  
    ...that wasn't good. What if you’d damaged your spinal cord? The more you struggle, the harder it is to understand what's happening. The only physical sensation you could note was one of visceral static sinking deep into your bones. It wasn't inherently unpleasant, but did fall under the category of "Strange and Also Weird". You’re about to start hyperventilating when you hear a voice to your left ring out-

    "oh, jeez, are you okay? i’m sorry, i saw you flip over the curb and couldn’t just-" the disembodied voice was growing rapidly closer as you tried to make sense of what was actually going on. With much effort, you manage to loll your head towards the source of the sound, and the sight that meets you is as baffling as it is thrilling. It was Skele-friend! You were finally going to be introduced! Embarrassing circumstances aside, you were zapped with anticipation. What was with their expression though?

* * *

    ...what...was _that_? Was that really your soul? Why was your HP so drained? Actually- was that _negative_ LV? Also: why, _why_ _**why**_ , did it have to be _you_ again? Someone must have been conspiring against him. He was staring. He had to stop staring- it was rude to stare- but seriously. What was he even looking at right now? He tripped over himself in his rapid attempt to get closer, heard himself rambling, felt you squirm against his magic...he was still staring...and, oh stars above, you were smiling that same smile as before. It was probably just his imagination, but he could have sworn your soul _twinkled_  as you made eye contact with him. His head throbbed as he looked away. He felt his magic hastily retreat and...

    ...you hit the ground with an audible **thud**. 

   "good one, sans. you're an absolute disgrace, as per the norm." he scolds himself. He'd honestly just wanted to quickly help out and slink away unnoticed, but it seemed like fate wasn't on his side for that scenario. He closes the distance between the two of you in one step. 

* * *

    You release a pained gasp as you promptly become reacquainted with gravity, but even the twinge in your back can't keep you from lurching into a sitting position. You hurriedly unbuckle your clunky helmet and push yourself up onto quivering legs. Your mouth and mind both shoot off a mile a minute as the pieces start to fall into place. 

    "Did you do soul magic on me? From all the way over there?" You point to where your savior had been standing moments prior before prattling on. "You totally did! You did soul magic on me! To keep me from crashing! I don't usually have anyone to keep me from doing that, and oh man- it kind of happens a lot. So, yeah, seriously, you're kind of my hero- oh!"

* * *

    Whoa, your voice was really different from when you were singing, and- what? You really weren't inherently repulsed by the fact that he'd used his magic on you? He'd tried not to notice how you'd relaxed into his embrace before fighting it, but hearing your verbal confirmation of it being well-received made his breath catch.

    You must have still been stirred up from your almost accident because you stumble forward mere moments after standing. Sans instinctively reaches forward to steady you, but to his extreme mortification, his hands land directly over the swell of your waist on each side. He pulls away as though he's been burned, but the damage had already been done. He couldn't get over how small you were in comparison to him. Even when standing at a similar height, he was practically twice as wide as you were. Why was that so damn... _appealing_ to him? Frisk couldn't have been onto something about the crush. _Right?_ He'd made a deliberate point of not thinking about you when that comment had been made, but the reality of the statement practically glared at him as you stood in such close proximity to one another. He'd been trying so hard to avoid thinking about you; he didn't even know you. 

* * *

     Your stomach flutters a little as skeletal hands reach out to steady you. You swear you feel them tighten fractionally before retracting, but it was over so quickly that you figured it to be unintentional. On that note, you do your best to shake off the feeling of how warm and strong those sturdy palms been against your hips, but hardly succeed as you blurt out-

    "Jeepers, uh, we haven't even been officially acquainted and I'm already, um, falling for you!" A moment of silence passes and you kind of want to shrivel up and die, but that wouldn't be very cool. Not at all.  
  
   "Man, wow, talk about cliché and also kind of, um, awful. I'm sorry you had to be subjected to that." You force yourself to make eye contact once more as you offer an apologetic grin. Now...to try and steer the conversation into less debilitatingly awkward territory! 

* * *

   You were adorable, and the fact that you were clearly oblivious was truthfully kind of astonishing (if not aggravating). You wrung your hands together, picked at your fingers, bit your plush bottom lip, played with your hair...and smelled delicious while you did so. Sans took an inconspicuous breath and almost groaned as the delicate notes of your perfume wafted towards him with your every move. It was soft and almost unnoticeable on the breeze, but now that he knew what he was looking for, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to forget the fragrance. Sans could feel himself getting more and more carried away by your presence as you rambled on. You shared tidbits of information about yourself including your name, how long you'd been in town, how you'd almost said hello to him before- wait. What? 

   "- yeah, uh, I hope that's not super weird but we've kinda-sorta been in the same vicinity a few times? I always noticed you were around and always wanted to say hi but you always looked busy and it's kind of hard for me to meet new people...and, I just, uh, said always a lot...of times..." you trailed off, breaking eye contact. You just had to bite your lip again, didn't you?   
  
  _(fuck it.)_

   "i...always noticed you too." (Was he really doing this?) Sans extended his hand. (He was really doing this. Apparently.) You stared long enough for his confidence to wane slightly- were you going to leave him hanging? Before he could begin to feel too self-conscious, you were grasping his hand between both of your smaller ones. The moment of contact sent a thrill through him and he found himself squeezing your tiny fingers within his own. But...wait- why were you only wearing one glove? You must have noticed him gawking because you laughed and explained how your apartment swallowed the match and how you "...figured that one warm hand was better than two cold ones!" Your logic was both silly and endearing. 

  ...then you were apologizing. Again. 

* * *

    "why are you sorry?" the monster drops their hand so you pull your own to your chest. 

    "Oh, just, um. Because! I just hope this wasn't too much trouble for you...I really need to learn to look where I'm going when I'm riding my bike. There are just so many interesting and beautiful sights to behold! Too many, really!" 

    The stranger in front of you shook their head and dismissed your worries with a chuckle and... _oh_. That was a really nice sound. You told them so and watched with rapt fascination as a barely noticeable tint colored their cheeks. It suited them, but you figured you'd keep that particular compliment to yourself and ask for their name instead. 

    "oh, heh, of course. where are my manners? the name's sans. sans the skeleton."   
  
      _(Man, they're cool.)_  
  
    "Middle name "The", huh? Very succinct. Wait...Sans..." a moment of understanding dawns upon you and you reach for your backpack.  

    "Did you perhaps lose a book somewhat recently?" Sans browbone raises minutely, so you take that as a sign to continue. You pull the tome you'd been hauling around out of your pack and hold it out towards them.

    "This is really just a hunch, but..."

* * *

    "...is this yours?" ...and...huh. That certainlywas the book he'd misplaced, but how did you..?  
  
    "How did you know this was mine and where exactly did you find it?" Sans instantly regrets the uncivil edge to his tone as you flinch.  
  
    ( _smooth. someone's trying to be nice to you and you jump at their throat.)_  
  
    San's eyes unconsciously dart down to your exposed neckline and he nearly chokes as he's forced to swallow the viscous magic that pools in his mouth. Your collarbones were... _no_. Sans had to forcibly pull the breaks on that thought process.  
  
    _(don't. you. dare.)_

   "Sorry, I um..." he feels immensely guilty while he watches you fumble for your words, but you continue before he can apologize himself, "It's just...the handwriting along the margins? Appears to be in comic sans..? I mean, that's  maybe crazy, but I also saw you reading on a bench at one point so...uh..."

    Sans was actually pretty impressed that you'd noticed either of those things.  

   "I know that's a bit of a stretch...but maybe not since it really is yours! Oh, and to answer your other question, I found it by the railroad tracks." You begin to go on a bit about how you liked to go there and watch the sunset every so often.   
  
_(...of course.)_ His expression fell as he recalled what had happened after he fled the scene the last time he'd seen you.

    "-anyway, pardon my rambling...here you go!" You hand the book over to Sans with a sheepish look. "I'm kind of relieved that I don't have to drag this thing around anymore! Not that I _had_ to, I just wanted to have it with me in case anyone replied to the craigslist ad I made-"

Sans tucks the book into his jacket with an appreciative smile.   
  
    "no worries at all, bud- you really did me a solid. thanks."  
  
  _(well,_ _that was_   _awkward.)_  
  
   "Oh, seriously, I really am the one who should be the one thanking you-!"   
  
    "hey, don't mention it. i just can't stand seeing people get hurt." Sans coughs a little, "so, which interesting and beautiful sight was it?" He finds your confused "...huh?" in response to his question infuriating...ly cute.

    "...that distracted you enough to crash your bike directly into a storm drain?"

    "Oh!" You let out an embarrassed huff, "Yeah, that! It's just that there was the most striking rose back there-" Ah, yes, he remembered seeing the swollen bloom sway on the breeze as he'd walked past. The color had personally reminded him of the hellish and uncountable iterations of his life spent trapped in a relentless and unpredictable time loop, but...if you liked it...  
  
   "- it was poking through...that fence..?" You turn in a circle (once, twice), searching for the aforementioned flower, "I thought..? Oh, wow, I'm pretty embarrassed that I actually crashed my bike for absolutely no reason, though I guess it wouldn't be the first time..." 

* * *

     You turn to face Sans and the sight that meets you causes your heart to skip a beat. Their eyes are downcast, spine straighter than before, and the same blood-red rose you'd recklessly admired clutched in their outstretched hand.   
   
    "I am so, so, confused right now...and so, so, thoroughly charmed." You reverently pluck the rose from Sans's grasp.  
  
    "great. does that mean you'd maybe consider going out to dinner with me? right now? actually, it'd be more of a late lunch than anything, but-" they shrug.  
  
     _(Oh my gosh. Am I being asked out on a **date** right now??)_  
  
    "I'd, sure..! I mean, yes! Although...I guess for me it would _technically_ be breakfast."   
   
    "what, seriously?" Sans asks with a frown, "i had at least three of those today."

* * *

     You giggle and Sans swoons a little. You'd complimented the sound of his laugh, but yours was like a breath of fresh air to him. Better, even. It fit your personality and made your face crinkle up in the most interesting ways. He wanted to hear more...though he wasn't counting on it.  
  
     Though...you did just kind of say yes to going on an impromptu... _date_? With... _him_?  
  
    _(holy shit.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~* No content warning for this chapter! *~
> 
> hi i am back!!! what do you all think of this..? do you like how you met?? i'm still figuring out pacing and formatting but I'm sure it'll come along if I keep trying!
> 
> ps: bara sans. :^)
> 
> ~Z

**Author's Note:**

> Any chapters that I believe need a content warning will have a brief description ~down here~  
> Smutty chapters will be noted with an asterisk (*)!


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